


After

by Bloodrose84



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 07:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19290988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodrose84/pseuds/Bloodrose84
Summary: Aziraphale takes Crowley up on his offer of staying at his place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in about 12 years (I lost my love of fandom due to depression and other life circumstances, Good Omens has brought it back and I'm loving feeling inspired again). Any constructive criticism would be welcome, as I'm a little rusty with my writing!

"Well, here it is," Crowley stated breezily, throwing open the front door and ushering Aziraphale inside, "Home hellish home!"

"It's..." Aziraphale glanced around, eyes catching on the statue of an angel and a demon... fighting, probably. Definitely. Fighting. Yes. "... charming." He finished lamely. At the quirk of Crowley's eyebrow he cleared his throat awkwardly. "You have a lovely home, Crowley. Thank you for inviting me to stay."

"Not a problem, angel." Crowley grinned, motioning him into the living room, "Please, make yourself at home. I'll get us something to drink."

"That sounds lovely."

Aziraphale sat himself down on the slightly uncomfortable sofa, whilst Crowley quickly busied himself in the kitchen. In no time at all the demon was back, proffering a full glass of red wine whilst clutching one of his own. Aziraphale took it gratefully and took a sip, sighing in pleasure at the rich smoothness of the vintage.

"So. They're coming for us."

"Yes."

"How long do you think we've got?"

Crowley let out a long breath, considering. "The way I see it, we've embarrassed both sides. They're going to want to get rid of us quickly, avoid the scandal. So I reckon at most we've got...50, 60 years? Probably less."

"Probably less." Aziraphale agreed quietly, taking another mouthful of wine. Crowley looked at him, reading the nerves and tension in every inch of his body. Satan, but he loved him. It was almost painful to see him like this, and what Crowley wanted to do most was hold him, protect him, make him alright. Underneath these wants were some which were more primal in nature - _kiss him, mark him, own him, take him_ \- Of course, he could do none of these things so instead he did the next best thing and miracled up another bottle of fine wine, topping up his angel's glass.

"The way I see it," he said thoughtfully, "we need to come up with a plan."

"Well, yes, I was rather hoping we might," Aziraphale said, slightly waspishly, "unless you thought we were just going to happily waltz off to our deaths?" He frowned at Crowley.

Crowley couldn't help but grin, and it widened when Aziraphale frown melted into a small smile of his own. "No, my dear angel," he said soothingly, "not for a moment. I simply meant we should come up with one sharpish. Like, now. They could come tomorrow for all we know." He'd meant it as a throwaway remark, but Aziraphale stiffened.

"Well of course they will," he murmured softly, "they'll want to take us by surprise."

"No." Crowley shook his head. "No. Tomorrow? No. That's... that's too quick for them. No. No, that's...oh bugger, they're coming tomorrow. Shit."

The two celestials gazed into their respective glasses. Try as he might, Crowley couldn't even begin to come up with a plan. The last prophecy of Agnes Nutter was echoing in his head and with every echo seemed to make less and less sense. He eyed the clock, noticing how close to midnight it was.

"Do you sleep?" He asked abruptly.

Aziraphale startled slightly looking up at him. "What? Sleep? Er...not on a regular basis but I have done. Why?"

Crowley shrugged. "Sometimes I come up with better ideas after I sleep. Work through it in my subconscious, much less effort. Might be worth a try."

"Sounds risky," Aziraphale stated dubiously, "we may wake up with no plan and Gabriel standing at the foot of the bed."

"He can't get in here." Crowley reassured him, fully aware that that wasn't the point. "I don't know about you, but I'm drawing a blank here. I doubt I'm likely to come up with anything sat here."

"Oh. Well, alright. You head off to bed, I'll stay here and..."

"Come to bed with me." The words were out before Crowley really had a chance to think about them. Aziraphale blinked at him.

"I'm sorry...what?"

"For sleep." Crowley said, possibly a little too quickly. "I want you to sleep with m...sleep in the bed. With me...also...in the...in the bed." He paused, knowing he could leave it there but suddenly not wanting to. He sighed. "I thought I'd lost you. I...I don't want...to...I want you with me."

Aziraphale smiled in understanding, although Crowley was sure he didn't understand at all.

"Ah. I see. Well, in that case, lead the way dear fellow. Let us 'sleep on it' to use the vernacular."

Crowley couldn't quite suppress the fond smile and turned quickly in the direction of his bedroom before Aziraphale could notice.  In the 3 or 4 thousand years or so since he'd realised he'd fallen for the angel - quite hard and hopelessly and completely - he'd become very good at schooling his reactions to him, keeping his expression and body language from betraying whatever thought or feeling or desire he was having at that moment. But Aziraphale, damn him, had a way of getting a reaction out of him every now and again without Crowley meaning it to happen.

Once they were inside the bedroom, Crowley took a second to realise perhaps this was a huge mistake. He was about to get into BED. With Aziraphale. With the person he loved and desired so much he sometimes forgot the angel hadn't always been there with him, the person who was so much a part of him that when he'd thought he was dead Crowley felt like he'd died himself.

With a small twitch of one eye he dismissed his feelings, snapping his fingers and dressing himself in a pair of red silk pyjamas in a split second. He felt rather than saw Aziraphale pause and looked up at him.

"Does one normally...change ones clothes for sleep?" The angel asked, eyeing him up and down in a way which made Crowley's stomach clench pleasantly. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

"Well...yes. What have you been doing, sleeping in whatever you had on at the time?"

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" Aziraphale muttered, flushing red, "no-one ever told me!"

Crowley couldn't help it. He laughed. Aziraphale scowled at him, but whatever he saw in Crowley's face clearly placated him as he realised he wasn't being mocked, and he started to giggle as well.

_I love you._ The words were on the tip of Crowley's tongue. It would be so easy to let them out, so easy to let Aziraphale know exactly what he was thinking. "We should sleep, angel." He said instead, cursing himself even as he smiled at his friend and slid beneath the covers. Aziraphale hesitated before nodding firmly, snapping his fingers and changing into a tartan flannel monstrosity and clambering under the covers himself.

There was a slightly awkward silence, and Crowley wondered if he'd actually be able to fall asleep at all. His eyes were closed, but he was startlingly aware of Aziraphale's proximity and it was taking all his strength to keep his breathing steady and normal. He lay like that for several minutes, willing himself to just rest. He glanced over at Aziraphale and to his surprise saw the angel watching him.

The blue eyes widened a fraction, but he didn't look away. Crowley felt the atmosphere thicken and spark with something, something un-nameable and potentially dangerous. He wasn't sure how long they looked at each other before Aziraphale spoke.

"When you thought...when you thought I'd...when you couldn't find me. Why didn't you leave? You were going to."

"There was no point." Crowley answered truthfully. "I thought you'd...died. I thought they'd killed you. There was no point going anywhere without you."

"Oh. But what were you going to do?"

"Make them _burn_." As he said it, Crowley felt the same anger and hatred well up inside him. "I was going to make them all burn."

"They'd have destroyed you!" Aziraphale said, aghast.

"Yes. I'd have burned with them. You were gone, so I'd have burned with them." He finished softly.

Aziraphale frowned slightly, his eyes flicking between Crowley's, blue gazing into gold. The atmosphere crackled and Crowley swallowed. There was... potential, here. For what, he wasn't sure, but the feeling that something could indelibly change between them if either one of them moved. If either one of them just reached out...but they both stayed still, just looking at each other, and Crowley wasn't sure how long they lay there but he must have fallen asleep eventually because suddenly the thin light of dawn was seeping through the window and Aziraphale was snoring faintly on his shoulder.

Crowley swallowed, his heart pounding. Somehow, their limbs had become entwined in some sort of embrace, the angel pulled snug against him. He thought about extracting himself but without any real feeling. He closed his eyes, breathing in. He could taste Aziraphale’s breath and it made him slightly dizzy.

"And people say I'm temptation," he muttered, carefully brushing a white curl off of Aziraphale’s forehead, "what about you?" There was, of course, no answer from the sleeping angel and Crowley allowed himself to indulge, closing his eyes again and just enjoying the feeling of holding, and being held by, the person he loved so desperately. Unfortunately, he must have fallen asleep again because the next thing he knew the sun was shining brightly and he was alone.

* * *

  
At first, panic almost overwhelmed him before he caught the sound of movement coming from the kitchen.

Movement and _humming_. Humming. Aziraphale was humming, like he hadn't a care in the world.

Carefully, Crowley slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen, almost surprising himself with how silent he managed to be. For a few seconds he watched the angel putter around the kitchen, enjoying the sight of _domesticity_ before clearing his throat.

"Um... Aziraphale? What...?"

Aziraphale looked round and beamed.

"Ah! Crowley! Good morning my dear. Sleep well?"

"Yes, fine, fine." Crowley flapped a hand in dismissal. What did it matter if he'd _slept well?_ "What are you doing?"

Aziraphale looked baffled. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're cooking breakfast. In my kitchen. You're cooking in my kitchen. Why are you cooking in my kitchen?"

"Don't you have breakfast usually?"

"Well, yes, but I have coffee like a normal person. Not this...whatever that is."

Aziraphale tutted. " _That_ , as you so charmingly put it, is a spinach and pistachio hash and it's absolutely to die for. Oh, but Crowley, I've had the most marvellous idea!"

"Ok..." Crowley still wasn't sure what was going on. He was distracted by the cooking, and the domesticity, and the fact that Aziraphale was still wearing those damn flannel pyjamas. One button had opened, revealing a tantalising sliver of Aziraphale's chest. Crowley stared at the gap, allowing his mind to wonder to what might happen if he strode forwards, tugged it open all the way, touched that forbidden skin beneath his clothing...he suddenly realised Aziraphale was talking.

"Sorry, what?"

"We choose each other." Aziraphale stated, seemingly unaware Crowley hadn't been listening.

"You've lost me."

"Were you even listening? Honestly, Crowley, this is literally life or death!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Like I said, you know me better than anyone else. And I know you better than anyone else. So we 'choose our faces wisely'. We choose each other, each other's faces. You go to heaven, I'll go to hell."

"No. Far too dangerous for you."

"Dangerous for both of us dear. But maybe not, I mean, how would they punish you?"

"Eternal pit, probably. Or the needles. If it was your lot they'd use holy water, but...oh." He suddenly realised what Aziraphale meant. "Holy water."

"Precisely." Aziraphale beamed. "They'll be working together, heaven helping to punish you, hell helping to punish me. Hellfire, I imagine."

"You are brilliant." Crowley said earnestly. "Absolutely magnificent."

"Oh." Aziraphale gave a pleased little smile and flushed slightly. "Well. Thank you. Now, let's eat this gorgeous breakfast before it gets cold and then..."

"...and then it begins." Crowley finished.

 

Much as Crowley hated to admit it, never really being one for food, the hash was quite good. Even better though, was watching Aziraphale enjoy it. All too soon the meal was over and they were looking at each other over the empty plates.

"So how do we do this?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale admitted, "Possession is more your side's forte."

"Ok, well first of all it's not exactly possession. And second of all, out of the two of us, you're the only one who's ever done...THAT."

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise. "Really, you've never...? Not even once?"

"Never. Never had the need. So, just you. And you did it wrong."

"Well, I didn't know what I was doing! And I wasn't going to leave the poor woman trapped in her own body with no control!"

"You're just lucky you found someone willing to share. How did you choose her anyway?"

"She was doing a séance, she was open to inviting someone inside her." Crowley couldn't stop his small huff of laughter at the angel's phrasing and Aziraphale blushed, glaring at him. "ANYWAY, she was... receptive...and I just sort of..." he reached out and laid a hand on top of Crowley's. They sat there for a few seconds, but apart from the usual warm tingle he felt when touching Aziraphale, Crowley couldn't feel anything different.

"I don't think it's working." He whispered.  
"No." Aziraphale murmured back. He pulled back his hand, much to Crowley’s disappointment. “Now what?"

"I mean, I think you've got the right idea." Crowley said encouragingly, "just...tell you what, come here." He sprang up, shook out his limbs and cracked his neck as if preparing for some sort of exercise. When Aziraphale didn't move, he held out a hand. Aziraphale stood, taking it without a second thought.

"What?"

"Just..." Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s other hand as well, studying his face for an sign of...well, anything. "Focus on me." He murmured. He let himself do something he'd often denied himself and really looked at his angel, his Aziraphale. Let his mind fill with nothing but thoughts of him. What he looked like, felt like, smelt like...he allowed himself to be consumed by him until it became almost too much and he had to close his eyes.

"Well," came a voice which was familiar but at the same time unfamiliar, "this is...not what I expected."

Crowley's eyes sprang open, his stomach giving a confused swoop as he looked into his own face, his own serpentine eyes. Then his head caught up with what was going on and he looked down, seeing Aziraphale’s flannel pyjamas and slightly rounded tummy.

"This is... different." He murmured, idly poking his - Aziraphale’s? - fleshy midriff.

"Do you mind?" Aziraphale said sharply in Crowley's body.

"Sorry." He looked up at his friend. "This is very weird. I thought we'd sort of...just inhabit each other's corporeal bodies. This is... something else."

"Something better, perhaps." Aziraphale suggested, "less likely to get noticed."

"Maybe." Crowley frowned. Something was missing. Something had changed. "What is that?"

"What?"

"That... there's no despair. There's... something else."

"Love." Aziraphale smiled. Then he, too, frowned. "Although now that you mention it, I don't feel despair either."

"The air was full of it yesterday, everywhere." Crowley protested.  
They stared at each other for a second, then both glanced at the television which flicked on although neither was sure which had actually turned it on.

The news was full of...nothing. Politics, weather, the usual drivel.

"He put it back.". Aziraphale breathed. He suddenly looked hopeful. "The shop! I should..."

"No!" Crowley barked. "I'll go. I look like you. You...stay here. Get dressed. Meet me in St James' park in an hour." He paused, "And check if my car is outside!" One snap of his fingers and he was wearing Aziraphale’s usual white garb, another snap and he was gone, transporting himself to outside the bookshop.

He stared up at it - unburned, unblemished, as if none of it had ever happened. As if his whole world hadn't, just for a little while, completely shattered. He took a deep breath and went inside.

It was...the same. Exactly as he remembered it. Well, almost, there were definitely some new rare books that hadn't been there before (and oh, Crowley was just now realising how well he knew this shop down to the smallest detail, how much time he had spent here without even realising and it made his heart ache with longing to have Aziraphale with him here now) he delicately traced the back of Aziraphale’s favourite chair in the back room, imagining his angel sitting there before he shook his head.

"Keep it together, Crowley," he murmured, "got an execution to get to." With a last look around he headed to St James' Park. Perhaps it was a mistake, but he decided to go the long way and walk. He was quite enjoying being in Aziraphale’s body (and didn't THAT thought make his heart beat faster) and was looking forward to the journey.

Almost exactly an hour after he had left his flat, he found himself stood in front of an ice cream cart, Aziraphale by his side. As Aziraphale ordered, he looked around.

"How's the car?" He asked in what he hoped was a casual manner.

"Not a scratch on it. How's the bookshop?"

"Not a smudge." He said with a small smile. "Not a book burned. Everything back just the way it was." He paused as Aziraphale handed him an ice cream. "You heard from your people yet?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Yours?"

"Nothing."

"Do you understand what happened yesterday?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley paused.

' _which bit?_ ' his brain asked ' _the part where you died, the part with the antichrist, the part where we won, the part where we lay in bed together and I've never been so terrified or so connected or so aroused in my entire life?_ ' he gave a small shrug. "I understand some of it," he said cautiously, "some of it, well, is just..." He broke off as he caught sight of death. Well. That couldn't be good.

"Ineffable." Boomed the ghostly figure then, before Crowley had a chance to react, there was tape over his mouth and two angels at his sides dragging him away from Aziraphale. His eyes widened as he fought desperately. He knew this was coming, but he thought he'd have more time. He thought he'd have warning.

He thought he'd get to say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

The 'trial' went almost exactly as planned, although it was a close thing. The way Gabriel was speaking to who he thought was Aziraphale made Crowley's blood boil and it was all he could do to resist flinging the hellfire into his stupid smug face, and those of his two companions. All he could do to resist burning the whole damn place to the ground. Satan, he hated them. They may not have killed his angel before but they were perfectly willing to do it now and they were _happy_ about it. After all poor, naive Aziraphale had done for them and they didn't give a _shit_.

Crowley wanted to tear them all limb from stupid limb.

But he didn't. He climbed into the hellfire like a good little angel/demon and stood there enjoying the warm tickle of the flames. He couldn't resist a bit of fun, blowing the flames at the angels who backed away, satisfactory looks of fear on their faces. After a couple of minutes, Crowley stepped from the flames towards them. He addressed Gabriel.

"I think you ought to leave me alone from now on, yes?"

"Now, Aziraphale, look..."

"No, you look 'Archangel Fucking Gabriel'," he said pleasantly, stepping forwards and absently noting with delight the fear in his eyes increasing, "hellfire can't touch me. You can't touch me. But see I...I can do a lot of things. Do you want to see what I can do?"

"Err...no. You...just go."

"Ask nicely." Crowley smiled wickedly. Gabriel swallowed.

"Please." He choked out, glaring, looking like it made him feel sick. "Please will you leave?"

"By all means." Crowley nodded. "Hope I don't see you around." And with that he sauntered back towards the portal which Gabriel hastily summoned for him.

 

He had been terrified, he admitted to himself on the walk home from the Ritz as he listened to Aziraphale excitedly talking about... something or other. Terrified that he'd get to the bench and find himself alone, that they'd been wrong about the Holy Water and he'd never see Aziraphale again (except in the mirror, which didn't count and would probably make him feel worse). But the angel had been waiting for him, Crowley's lanky frame sat up straight. When he caught sight of Crowley walking towards him he beamed and the look of unmasked joy was almost enough to make Crowley run over there and kiss him, damn the consequences. The only thing that stopped him was that Aziraphale had still been wearing his face and that was a bit weird even for Crowley. He suddenly realised Aziraphale had stopped walking and turned in confusion.

"Angel? Everything alright?"

"Yes, fine, fine. It's just..." He nodded over Crowley shoulder and Crowley looked, realising that without him realising they'd walked to the old bookshop. He looked back at Aziraphale.

"I told you, it's ok. Not a smudge, not a burn, not a cinder. Exactly as you left it. Better, in fact."

"I know. I... it's silly to be nervous. But I am. Nervous, that is."

Crowley hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching out and taking Aziraphale’s hand.

"It's ok. I'm with you." He smiled, and tugged Aziraphale towards the shop. He came surprisingly easily. Once inside the shop Aziraphale seemed to overcome his anxiety and promptly dropped Crowley's hand, darting around the shop uttering small sighs and squeaks of delight which Crowley found ridiculously endearing. He couldn't help but smile, which Aziraphale returned joyously when their eyes met.

"Oh, Crowley, it's...he fixed everything!"

Crowley was expecting Aziraphale to go and look in the back room. He was expecting him to check out the small flat upstairs, to return with a bottle of wine or three. What he wasn't expecting was to suddenly find Aziraphale’s arms flung around his neck in an exuberant hug.

His mind faltered. He froze. 6000 years and they'd never hugged and Crowley should move, he should react but he wasn't expecting it and he wasn't prepared, and...his hands twitched, but before he could raise his arms to return the hug he felt Aziraphale tense, as if suddenly realising what he'd done and the angel pulled back with a bashful smile.

"Sorry. Got overexcited. Won't happen again."

"Erm," Crowley cleared his throat, "not a problem."

"Right." Aziraphale let go and backed away, looking embarrassed, and Crowley wanted him BACK damn it. He wanted to reach out and grab him and never let him go. Instead, he said "Wine?" And followed Aziraphale up to his flat (which, Crowley realised, he'd never actually been in before) where he and Aziraphale sat on a surprisingly squashy sofa and drank two bottles, laughing about their respective 'executions'.

"Tempt you to another?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley grinned, holding out his glass.

"Now how could I say no?"

Aziraphale got up and walked over to his wine rack, and the angel promptly started poring over the bottles, occasionally letting out a noise of surprised pleasure.  
Crowley watched him, smiling fondly. He loved watching him. Aziraphale selected a bottle, poured two glasses and sniffed his own appreciatively. Then he noticed Crowley watching him and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his smile never quite leaving his face.

"What? What are you up to?"

"Me? Nothing." Crowley stood and sauntered over, plucking his glass from Aziraphale’s hand.

"You're watching me. You're _smiling_."

"You look happy. I like seeing you happy. It's...good."

"Oh!" Aziraphale smiled, his small, pleased smile that Crowley adored. "Well then; to being happy!"

"To being happy." Crowley echoed, clinking their glasses together and taking a sip, his eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s.

And then, before he could say anything else, there were soft warm lips pressed against his own.

Crowley had imagined Aziraphale kissing him before. He'd imagined a million first kisses, in a million different scenarios, with a million different outcomes. But what he'd never imagined was in fact exactly what happened: he _flinched_. Because in spite of his imaginings (and Crowley had a GOOD imagination) he'd never actually believed it would happen. He knew Aziraphale didn't feel that way about him, and he knew that wouldn't change. So to find his angel kissing him caused him to react in much the same way he would if anyone else had kissed him; which was to flinch, pull back and stare in confusion.

Aziraphale flushed bright red and stepped back sharply.

"Crowley, I'm sorry, the wine...it won't happen- _mmph_!"

Crowley didn't want to hear him say it wouldn't happen again, he couldn't let that short press of lips be the only taste of his angel he ever got. So, damn the consequences. Damn all his misgivings, damn ruining his friendship and damn pretending he was ok. He let out a small noise and swooped forwards, seizing Aziraphale’s face and pressing their mouths together in a desperate kiss, forcing them backwards until Aziraphale collided solidly with the wall where he pinned him, kissing him hungrily.

He let go and pressed a ragged kiss to Aziraphale’s neck. The angel gasped, hands scrabbling at Crowley's sides.

"Crowley...stop."

"Why?" He pressed another kiss to the angel's neck and bit down gently on his earlobe. Aziraphale let out a small moan.

"Stop...we can't..."

"We can. No-one would know. They're not watching..”

"I don't want this.”

It felt as if Aziraphale had thrown a bucket of holy water. Crowley stopped dead, backing away, feeling like he was simultaneously freezing and burning.

"Crowley..." Began Aziraphale but the demon held up a hand to stop him, refusing to look at him.

"Don't. Just...don't." and with that he snapped his fingers and was back in his flat, alone, and it felt lonelier than he'd ever known it before.

* * *

 

  
It had been three days. Three days since the kiss, three days since he'd spoken to his angel.

Crowley felt terrible.

The first day he'd done nothing but drink, then deliberately didn't sober up so he could have the pain of his terrific hangover to focus on and stop him thinking about anything else. The hangover had lasted most of the second day, but once the pain started to fade Crowley hadn't been able to summon the willpower to start drinking again. What would be the point? So he'd sat, alone, on his sofa as the hours ticked by and the second day morphed into the third. He'd ruined everything. Ok, not everything really. Aziraphale would forgive him. Heaven, he'd probably forgive him right now if Crowley went and apologized. But if Crowley was honest with himself he didn't WANT to see Aziraphale. He was afraid that he might look into those blue eyes and see understanding or worse, _pity_ , and Crowley didn't think he could handle that.

He'd leave, he decided. Maybe not Alpha Centauri, maybe he'd stick around on earth - America, or Australia, somewhere far from here - he'd wait out the next few hundred years (or however long it took to think of Aziraphale’s face without his stomach twisting in knots) and then he'd find his angel and the two of them could...what? Be friends again? It could happen.

Crowley just didn't understand how he could have got it so wrong. Aziraphale had kissed HIM, surely it wasn't possible to misconstrue that? And yet somehow he had, somehow getting kissed back wasn't what the angel wanted. Crowley just couldn't make sense of the thing, it was as if he'd been climbing a staircase, sure of his footing, and then somehow a stair wasn't there and now he was falling and there was nothing he could do to save himself.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and Crowley growled, not moving from his position on the sofa. Whoever it was could just fuck off.

They knocked again. "Piss off!" Crowley yelled, tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Could he not just be left alone to stew in his own stupidity and misery?

A third knock. Crowley growled loudly, flinging himself up and stalking to the front door, not bothering to put his sunglasses back on (if they were going to piss him off they deserved the discomfort of his eyes) and flung the door open.

" _What_?! Oh." He froze, irritation draining from him leaving him feeling oddly cold. "Aziraphale."

"Hello Crowley. Um. Can I come in?"

Crowley thought wildly for a second of denying him, of just closing the door. But he couldn't, so he stepped aside and ushered the angel into his flat. Before he could think of what to say, Aziraphale turned to him.

"I'm sorry."

Crowley blinked. "What've you got to be sorry for?"

Aziraphale smiled tightly. "I'm afraid I rather made a mess of things. I just...can we go back to how we were? Before?"

It was a lifeline. All he had to do was agree and the whole sorry mess would be erased. Easy.

"I don't think I can do that, angel." Crowley said ruefully.

"Oh." Aziraphale swallowed. "But I...my dear, please just-"

"Aziraphale, please." Crowley interrupted. "I just need time."

"Time. Right. Of course. Ok." He turned to leave again, then paused. He turned back. "Actually, not ok. Crowley, talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make this alright."

"Just leave me alone." Crowley sighed. He couldn't meet Aziraphale's eyes. "Please."

"For how long?"

"For as long as it takes!" He made the mistake of meeting his eyes, then, and felt his stomach lurch. He looked away. "I was fine. I was fine with wanting you from a distance, I was fine with loving you from a distance, because I knew that you didn't feel that way, it wasn't something you wanted so I couldn't have it. And that was ok, really it was. But then you made me think, even if it was just for a second, that you did want it, that I could have you, and I just need time to get over that." He forced a smile. "I'll be ok, angel, really.”

Aziraphale was watching him, a peculiar expression on his face. He seemed frozen in place. "Say that again." He said softly.

Crowley frowned.

"I'll be ok?"

"Not that bit. The bit about...about loving me."

Crowley blinked. "Why?"

"Please."

It was too late to back out now, might as well get it all out in the open. "I love you. I've loved you for so long I can't even remember a time when I didn't. And I love being your friend, I had no intention of ever trying to change that; because just being around you was enough. But this has made me realise that I can't go on like that. I am so, so in love with you, and I need to stop. And I can't do that if I'm around you." He shifted uncomfortably. Aziraphale was still watching him, his face inscrutable. "Will you please say something?" He snapped.

"1941."

Crowley blinked rapidly, opened and closed his mouth. "Come again?"

"1941. You dropped a bomb on a church. You saved my books."

Crowley remembered perfectly, he'd had sores on his feet for weeks after walking on consecrated ground. "What about it?"

"That's when I fell in love with you."

Forget a missing stair, now the whole damn staircase had gone, the whole damn building, and Crowley was in freefall. "What?" he croaked.

Aziraphale flushed slightly. "I love you."

Crowley shook his head. "You said you didn't want me."

"I said I didn't want _that_. I thought...oh my dear, I'm so sorry but I didn't know. I didn't want something physical just because we could, just because no-one was watching. And you said- and I- I misunderstood." He took a cautious step forwards. "I misunderstood." He whispered, his eyes flicking nervously to Crowley's mouth.

Crowley couldn't move. This was too much, he felt completely lost. "I don't know what to do." He admitted.

"You could kiss me again."

"And then?"

"Whatever you want." Aziraphale murmured, flicking his gaze up to meet Crowley's and that was it. The floodgates opened and Crowley was swept away, surging forwards to meet Aziraphale's mouth in a surprisingly gentle kiss. The angel clung to him, pulled him closer, and Crowley couldn't stop a small moan from escaping his throat. Aziraphale pulled back, cheeks flushed. "Take me to bed." He murmured. Crowley didn't need telling twice. He led his angel by the hand towards his bedroom (stopping every now and again to press him into a wall) and the two of them tumbled onto the sheets, a tangle of limbs and skin and want and _I love you I need you I want you I love you **I'm yours**_.

 

Sometime later, Crowley found himself once again cuddled up close to his angel in bed. Only this time Aziraphale was awake, and was smiling at him in the soft dawn light.

"You're an idiot." Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley laughed, pulling the angel closer and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled into the curls.

"I know."


End file.
